Lies are for Lovers
by BelovedShadow
Summary: At the final battle for Hogwarts, Harry Potter defeats Voldemort... mostly. But maybe a part of him never wanted to kill the Dark Lord in the first place, and maybe that part of him is a little bit stronger than the boy hero we all know and love. HPLV, NC-17
1. The End

**Disclaimer: You don't really need this, do you?**

**Warning: There's sex. This is more plotty than smutty because I have a severe hate for writing smut, but I am able to do it, and I know that I like reading it, so I won't cheat you guys out of it just cus I'm not always in a raunchy mood. So! Butt-Sex. **

**Pairings: Harry Potter X Lord Voldemort/Tom Riddle, and Evan Rosier X Lucius Malfoy (Though the second won't have any smut, it is a bit important to the story.)**

**A/N: Okay, so I did say that all of my Harry Potter fanfics are on Hiatus. However, my love for Harry Potter isn't allowing me to stop writing just because I've stopped publishing. With that said, although I still am rather upset about what happened wih Parasomnia that made me put them all on Hiatus, I'm so focused on this fanfic right now that it's already four chapters long, and it just didn't seem fair to keep it from you any longer.**

**Enjoy!**

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Voldemort had raised his wand. His head was still tilted to one side, like a curious child, wondering what would happen if he proceeded. Harry looked back into the red eyes, and wanted it to happen now, quickly, while he could still stand, before he lost control, before he betrayed fear –

He saw the mouth move, just a little, and then a pause. Red eyes bored into his, and he felt a rush of pain piercing through his forehead, but it didn't cause him to lose balance. He was aware of the pain, but unharmed by it as it seared his mind, forcing thoughts, memories long forgotten, and knowledge beyond his years into his head.

And then, a calm velvet voice entirely not his own erupted from his throat, using his mouth to form words that he could hear in his head but had no authority to say on his own.

"Stop," The voice urged, and Voldemort, miraculously, listened. Harry could tell in the snake-man's eyes that he recognized this voice, that he was confused by it, but compelled to listen. "Look at what you've almost done," The voice scolded, and Harry felt his face pulled into a sneer that – like the voice – did not at all match the image he had of himself.

Then, the man was coming closer, so close that Harry could feel the odd warmth he emitted. It was strange, because somehow Harry knew that if he touched this man, the skin would be cold as ice, yet he seemed to make the boy hero feel rather hot as he approached. He could sense a presence in his head snickering at that, and was suddenly accepting of the fact that Hermione was right, and the thing he thought was simply his conscience was someone else entirely.

Voldemort was only measly inches away now, and slowly – _delicately _he reached a hand up to caress Harry's face. He pressed his icy white palm against the child's forehead, like a mother checking for fever, and Harry couldn't help but release a light whimper, feeling himself pressing farther into the touch.

Inexplicably, he was hardening in his pants. And somehow he knew that the Dark Lord knew this, and somehow he knew that the Dark Lord knew that he knew that the Dark Lord _knew –_ and somehow, as complicated as that was, it made him blush.

An unnaturally long finger swept over Harry's cheeks, and blood red eyes observed him like a newly discovered species.

"This is … an unexpected development," Voldemort whispered, and Harry wondered why he felt the need to speak so quietly, when at some point he had clearly placed a horrifically strong privacy ward around the two of them.

"What is?" Harry asked, breathlessly, wishing that Voldemort would put his hand back on his forehead … and maybe his other hand on his cock. Now _that _would be pretty lovely for an unexpected development.

It was at this inopportune moment that Harry Potter became aware of the fact that Voldemort had no trouble at all reading his mind. Unfortunately for our sex driven protagonist, Voldemort simply rolled his eyes with mild agitation and made no move towards the scar _or _Harry's erection.

Harry found the will not to be embarrassed, instead offering The Dark Lord a look that he hoped was sexy. He'd never know it if was or not, only that for the first time he heard a true laugh escape the man's lips.

"Harry the Horcrux, trying to seduce the Dark Lord..." Voldemort murmured, looking directly into Harry's eyes and gazing studiously into his thoughts, mostly the ones that Harry hadn't even become re-aware of until the voice of his not-quite-conscience had spoken through his lips.

"Curiouser and curiouser," He mused, taking a step back. "I am going to alter the memories of those who are in this clearing with us, Harry." Voldemort said, "To them, it will appear that I tried to kill you and succeeded. I will, of course, have failed yet again." He smirked, "Feel free to be creative thinking up a reason why."

Harry nodded, taking the information being given to him in stride and vowing not to disappoint his master.

"Your body – and _do _try to keep it still – will be carried back to Hogwarts. At some point, by the end of tonight, you must kill me."

Harry panicked at the thought, eyes widening and tears threatening to brim over. Voldemort looked astonished by the emotional display.

"Fear not, little Horcrux. Keep Nagini and yourself safe. Some day soon, I'll be back."

The part of Harry's mind that he had always thought was his conscience purred at the thought, and then, the privacy wards came down – and the games began.

**- Three Years Later -**

"A toast!" Rang out the booming proud voice of Horace Slughorn, "To the twentieth year of life for our Minister of Magic. My very own pupil and friend, Mr. Harry James Potter!"

Harry smiled dutifully, as was expected of him, and forced his eyes to display no sarcastic emotion at Slughorn's smug attitude. After all, The Boy Who Lived was certainly a person worth _collecting, _as it were. His intelligence was simply underestimated by most people he chose to associate himself with. This was, however, quite deliberate, especially over the past three years. He would not complain.

He was seated in the ministry ballroom, at his own twentieth birthday party. As the youngest man to rule wizarding Britain in history, it was kind of a big deal. He'd only been Minister for a little over a year, having acquired the position in May, when he was eighteen, and held it all the way through his nineteenth year until now. He was surrounded by friends and fools, something that was not unusual these days. Ever the loyal Gryffindor, all of Harry's friends were aware of the truth behind his political career, and anyone else who was unable to see it was a fool.

"Speech, speech, speech!" The people chanted, and as he knew he must, Harry rose from his seat to oblige them.

_'Tom,' _He whispered delicately into his own head, knowing without fail that the "Dark Lord" everyone credited him with defeating would be able to hear him loud and clear.

_'Harry,' _A silky voice responded mockingly, and Harry smiled, though he was sure everyone at the party assumed it wasn't at the sound of Voldemort's playful drawl.

_'The people want a speech from their minister,' _Harry explained, though he was fairly certain his lover had already guessed at that fact.

_'Then a speech they shall have,' _Tom answered, and Harry relaxed his mind, feeling the pulsing ache of the scar on his forehead as it twitched excitedly. He opened his mouth, and played follow the leader.

_'More than a year it's been, since you all so kindly accepted me. You cannot imagine how grateful I am.' _Tom's voice narrated in his head.

"More than a year it's been, since you all so kindly accepted me," Harry repeated aloud, "You cannot imagine how grateful I am."

_'Although we embarked on this journey together when I was no more than an eager child, still ignorant to the meaning of power, and without desire to grasp it; you have given me your time, your guidance, and most honorably – your trust. ' _

"Although we embarked on this journey together when I was no more than an eager child, still ignorant to the meaning of power, and without desire to grasp it; you have given me your time, your guidance, and most honorably – your trust." Harry was trying very hard not to laugh at the words Tom was placing on his lips, clearly hearing the mockery of himself laced throughout the speech as they continued. The only part of the speech that he truly had to alter was when Tom got a little egotistical.

_'When I by some strange and rather unlikely happenstance maimed the all great and powerful dark lord Voldemort with the assistance of a strange ritual performed by my filthy Mudblood mother at the impossibly retarded age of only one year old ...' _

Harry chuckled silently to himself. "When I brought down You-Know-Who for the first of many times, at the ripe young age of one..." he edited with a loving roll of the eye, hearing Tom's disdainful snort ringing through his head.

_'I had no way of knowing the path that my life would take..." _

And onward they continued, until the speech came to a graceful close. Tom really was quite the excellent speech giver, and a wonderful Minister as well. Of course, if the general wizarding public were aware of the fact that they were actually being ruled by Lord Voldemort rather than The Boy Who Lived, it would cause quite an uproar – but the biggest secrets were the easiest kept. No one would have believed it anyway, because the laws being put forward were so fair. They all underestimated him. They all _smiled_, sure. They all thought him a capable enough _killer _which was what they felt they needed right now. But they underestimated their savior. They'd never be convinced that he had truly _tamed _the last living heir of Slytherin and agreed to a very reasonable compromise on how to run Wizarding Britain.

Well, _some _people believed it. The usual suspects, Hermione and the Weasley nine – well, now the Weasley eight, but sacrifices had been made and Harry couldn't shame the memories of the dead by wallowing in remorse and passing up his own chance to live. Also, Neville and Luna were kept up-to-date. Naturally, Voldemort's Death Eaters and their families were all perfectly aware of the fact that the Dark Lord had somehow won the war, but was for some reason pretending as if he hadn't.

It was all very Slytherin, really.

And speaking of snakes... Harry grinned as he drifted across the room and came into contact with a smartly dressed Lucius Malfoy. How the man had avoided Azkaban so expertly this time was a great mystery but it might have just a _little _to do with the fact that Harry had rather boldly refused to testify against him, confusing everyone but his friends.

"Lucius," Harry said, his voice small and sweet.

"Master Potter," Lucius acknowledged, tilting his head, "My Lord," He greeted again, giving a deeper bow.

Harry giggled slightly, and fiddled a little with the ring on his right middle finger as he whispered into his head yet again. _'One of your Death Eaters is saying hello to you, Tom,' _

_'I don't care. When are you coming home?' _Voldemort snapped back, clearly annoyed that Harry hadn't tipped out after the speech. Offended by the tone, the younger man proceeded to pointedly ignore the elder's frustrated inquiry.

"Our mutual acquaintance sends his best," The boy lied, in response to Lucius's greeting – more so to tease his lover than to deceive the Malfoy patriarch.

The blond wore an amused grin, certain of the falsehood in those words, but he knew better than to pry into private affairs and ask to know what The Dark Lord had actually said.

"How goes the aristocratic life at Malfoy Manor?" Harry asked, truly curious.

"Everything is wonderful. Narcissa sends her best. She regrets that she could not make it out tonight,"

Harry frowned, "Not more trouble with Draco's wife?" He asked with genuine concern.

"The woman seems stubbornly determined not to carry a child to term," Lucius spat out, disgusted with his son's marriage and the lack of children produced by it.

"Well, inbreeding can bring unfortunate consequences, my friend. You and Narcissa have only managed a single child, and Master and Mistress Lestrange didn't have _any_." No matter who Harry's allegiance lied with, Bellatrix Lestrange had been a cunt and he refused to say her name unless absolutely necessary.

_'Come home, Harry...' _Tom's voice seductively whispered to him, _'I want to spread open your legs and run my tongue all over your-' _

Harry abruptly choked on the spot, gaining a concerned glance from Lucius, who had apparently been talking.

"I need to go," Harry said, wanting to feel bad for cutting the man off – but knowing that the Malfoy family understood quite well that when Harry said he needed to be elsewhere he meant it in a severe way that many others couldn't even begin to understand.

Without another word, Harry turned on the spot and disappeared.

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**A/N: So how did you like it? Please let me know with a review. The next two chapters are done, so when I see how it's received I'll post the next :) **

**I love you for reading!**

**-Beloved**


	2. The Beginning

**A/N: Okay, to clear up a bit of confusion about the first chapter of this – the chapter title wasn't visible since there was only one, but now that there are two, you will note that the first chapter is titled "The End" meaning that it is about the _end _of this fic. (Pretty self explanatory, huh?) Basically, I think part of the fun you'll have with this is figuring out how things got to that point. Harry's not just sexually attracted to Voldemort in the middle of the Battle of Hogwarts for no reason. Nor is he buddy-buddy with Lucius Malfoy later on for no reason. Now, as far as what those reasons _are – _you'll just have to keep reading, won't you? ;) **

**This chapter is rather MalfoyXRosier centered, but trust me, that pairing isn't here for no reason. It's important to the HarryXVoldemort part of this fic or else I wouldn't bother . My inexplicable obsession with Evan Rosier has almost nothing to do with it... Almost. **

**-ahem- **

**Now, back to the matter at hand...**

**This chapter is dedicated to Lily Short Stuff Uchiha. Happy Belated Birthday, girly!**

**Enjoy!**

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Even the beginning was not quite the beginning, because it began before it mattered at all. It began and it began, and it continued to begin, until the beginning of it all was so many things that in order to tell how it had begun, you had to accept the fact that there was no single answer.

Perhaps, the beginning was that moment, just between 1926 and 1927 when Merope Gaunt gave birth to her first and only son. Or maybe, the beginning was years and years after that, when that boy, now a man, entered a cozy home in Godric's Hollow and murdered all but one of the house's inhabitants.

Those who were better informed would say that it began with the life and death of Evan Rosier.

Evan Rosier had lived a rather brief life of luxury and pain. The luxury had certainly come first. Being the sole heir to a wealthy pureblood family was always something of a pleasant existence, at least for a child. Evan was taught that he was better than everyone else, and he grew up so certain of this fact that he never questioned it.

He was sadistic, yes, and moderately insane – but then again, Bellatrix Black was his first cousin so he could hardly be blamed for such a clearly genetic fault, really. His aunt Druella enjoyed his company, and probably would have married him to one of her daughters, if not for the fact that Bella and Cissy were already betrothed and Annie seemed determined to consort with low-born people. She lost her virginity before she was married, which wasn't too shameful as long as you kept it a secret. Unfortunately, she'd lost it to a rather pompous Mudblood who was quick to brag about bedding someone above his own worth.

Evan probably would have felt bad for the poor girl if he wasn't already dealing with so much inner turmoil. You see, although it would have been accepted by everyone for him to marry into the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, cousins or not – he found himself accidentally in love with someone much more taboo than a family member. Well, were he to be honest, they were probably related somehow. The issue was not anything that the others seemed to run in to. Evan wasn't in love with a muggle, mudblood, or blood-traitor. He wasn't in love with a magical beast. He wasn't even in love with someone who disapproved of The Dark Lord and his ideals.

No, Evan was in love with another boy. Worse – he was in love with a boy who was already engaged to be married to someone else. He knew this, because this particular boy was to be marrying one of the Black Sisters, just as Evan would have if Andromeda hadn't shamed herself. Evan was in love with Lucius Malfoy.

The details of this dismal affair were unimportant and insignificant, until Lucius was married to Narcissa, and Evan was drowning his sorrows in firewhisky at their wedding reception, which had lasted hours and hours after the happy couple had sailed off into the sky on a Pegasus drawn carriage, in the direction of their secret honeymoon location. Even Evan's abundant liquor consumption wouldn't have been the problem, if he had been alone. But he wasn't alone. And he wasn't the only one there that night who felt angry and betrayed.

Regulus Black was a very troubled young man.

"Remember when we were in school?" Regulus had asked his old friend, impressing Evan with his lack of a drunken slur. Then again, Evan certainly did not slur either. It was beneath him to do such things.

"Of course I remember when we were in school. It was just last year we got out of the damn place." He responded honestly, not noticing the way that his right hand traced delicately along his left forearm, subconsciously thinking of all that had happened in his seventh year.

"So young and naïve. So quick to follow behind whoever offered to lead..."

"What are you on about, Reg?"

"He almost _killed _my elf!" Regulus shouted, not caring whether or not he gained the attention of anyone else at the reception. Luckily, in a room full of high-society pure-bloods, no one pays much mind to a phrase as mundane as 'he almost killed my elf.' It would be as uncared for as a person who laughed especially loud at a bad joke. Annoying, yes. Important, no.

Perhaps, if they had all realized who the "he" was that had almost killed Regulus' elf, they'd have had a sharper ear. Evan, even in his drunken state, knew _exactly _who "he" was, and made quick work of placing a privacy charm over himself and his friend.

"You're questioning our Lord because he almost _killed your elf_? Who cares about a bloody elf!"

"Even an elf is wasted life..." Regulus whispered, eyes cruel and hard as he stared at Evan, "Next it won't be the elves. What happens when it's decided that one of _us _should be sacrificed for the sake of some power-crazed half-blood's immortality?"

"Immortality?" Evan had asked, and after he had asked, he had been answered, and after he had been answered, he had asked another question, and by the time the reception was over, he was momentarily distracted from Lucius Malfoy's betrayal, for he had found the fountain of youth. No, not literally, of course, and he wouldn't get carried away like his Lord had gotten.

It was three days after Evan's nineteenth birthday when he managed to successfully create his Horcrux. This was a very fortunate thing, because Alastor Moody didn't let him live to see his twentieth.

**XxBxExLxOxVxExDxX**

What Lucius held in his left hand was not beautiful. It was not extravagant, nor was it abnormal or glorious in any way. Or at least, not to him it wasn't. It never had been, not even when it was his. Maybe he just didn't see the point. Wizards did not need watches. A simple _Tempus _would always do the trick if you had to know what time it was, but Evan, in their second year of Hogwarts, had been quite deficient with that particular spell. Lucius had teased him for it often. At only nine years old, Evan and his cousin Bella were already running around with their training wands, seeing who could last longest under the others Cruciatus, and yet Evan was unable to cast a simple spell for time. _Crucio, _easy. _Tempus –_ impossible.

And so, Lucius, as his best friend, had graciously gifted his fellow Slytherin with an old pocket watch that he'd found lying around in his attic. Evan had been delighted, exclaiming that it was the first purposeless gift he'd ever received. At first, Lucius thought the child was being rude and trying to imply that a watch had no purpose (which, to a wizard, it didn't,) but later on in life, he came to understand that Evan meant it was the first time someone had given him anything without having a purpose for which they needed to present him with something. Lucius hadn't hidden his kindness under the pretense of a birthday party, Yule celebration, or congratulatory award. He had simply noticed that his friend never knew what time it was, and given him a rusty old pocket watch.

Admittedly, the thing didn't seem to be rusty or old now. Even after the boys had disappointingly discovered that the watch didn't work, Evan coveted it. He polished it almost daily, until the silver shone bright, and the tiny emeralds that made up the numbers twelve, three, six, and nine were visible behind once-broken crystal. The Malfoy crest could be seen on the outside, and on the inside, there was a picture of a thirteen year old Lucius, rolling his eyes at the absurd idea that Evan wanted a photo of him. The watch didn't open anymore, it seemed – but the Malfoy patriarch was familiar enough to know the picture and emeralds were there.

Lucius was surprised that Evan hadn't been buried with the damn thing, but instead, he had willed it to Lucius. Evan's will was very short and to the point, but he probably hadn't expected to die before even taking the dreaded "teen" suffix off of his age.

It had read:

"_Anything that is mine is now to be given to my aunt, Druella Black nee Rosier, the only person I trust to use my wealth in a way that I see fit. She has all rights to everything **with the exception of my pocket watch**, which is to be returned to my dearest friend, Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, who will always have it when I need it most." _

The fact that Evan had willed him the watch wasn't so odd. The part about Lucius having it when Evan needed it most was rather strange, considering Evan was now dead and didn't need for anything. Lucius hadn't cared, though. He hadn't parted with the watch since his mother in law had handed it to him two years ago.

"Lucius,"

His wife's voice pulled him from his thoughts, and he looked up from the old watch in his hand.

"Yes, Narcissa?" He asked formally.

"I'm pregnant," She whispered, in that daintily excited way of hers.

"Again?" He asked with boredom. This was not Narcissa's first pregnancy. Nor was it her second, third, fourth, fifth, or sixth. All dead before she made it through the first trimester.

"Lucius, I'm _eight months _pregnant. I waited to tell you this time, because I didn't want to disappoint you again..."

Well, now that he looked at her, she was getting rather round at the middle. He realized that perhaps he didn't really spend much time looking at her.

"If it's a boy," He remarked coolly, "I hope you understand that it will mark the end of our … intimacies."

She nodded, having already been expecting that. Narcissa wasn't a daft woman. She knew that her husband's preferences did not sway towards her side of the playing field. The only reason they even _had _sex was to produce an heir. It was all well and good, really, because they were great friends. They were a great team, as well. Their personalities were mostly compatible, and wherever they weren't, Narcissa did her duty as a woman and amended herself so that it wouldn't cause issue. If she gave birth to the next Malfoy heir, she was free to discreetly seek other lovers who could satisfy her sexually, and she had no doubt that Lucius would do the same.

And come June, Narcissa _did _have a son. It was at her baby's first birthday party a year later that she first noticed something was wrong.

The Dark Lord himself was at a gathering for a mere _child_, which was already strange, but the conversation he had with her was even more peculiar.

"Tell me, Narcissa," He had hissed out in that snake-like way of his, "How informed are you of the in and outs of wizarding gossip?"

She puffed up her chest, proud to reply in a way that she knew would please her Lord, "I am the _most _informed, My Lord. Have you a question for me?"

He smiled, a sick sight, his lips pulled too tightly against his face, as if the effort might split them open. "Your lovely young Draco cannot possibly be the only young wizard turning one this summer, correct? Have you been invited to any gatherings for another child? Late July, perhaps?"

Narcissa frowned deeply, "Not invited, no. There are only two magical children turning one at the end of this July, My Lord, but they're both born into blood-traitor families. I have no interest in them,"

Voldemort seemed giddily thoughtful at this information. "Blood-traitors, you say? Explain."

"The Longbottoms, sir. We always thought they were a good pure-blooded family, but these last generations have proved disappointing. They have a babe, I do not know his name, born late last July. The other would be the Potter boy, child of the Pureblood, James Potter, and his Mudblood wife, Lily."

Voldemort seemed farther intrigued by her response, and made courteous chit-chat with her for a few moments more before excusing himself.

Narcissa didn't feel one single pang of guilt when she learned at a Death Eater meeting that the Potter boy was to be killed. In fact, she quite prided herself in the knowledge that she was the one who'd alerted the Dark Lord of the child's treachery (though she knew not what that treachery was) and she even went so far as to give Voldemort a good-luck charm of sorts when he was leaving that night.

No, the only time she felt bad about any of it was when October faded into November, and with it came the tragic news of her Lord's demise. Lucius, her wonderful genius husband and best friend, managed to make it seem as though their family was totally innocent. No one from the ministry even came to check their home, which was fortunate, because several dark artifacts could have been discovered. She was absentmindedly trying to think up whether or not any of these artifacts might pose as harmful to her son (now toddling about in a way that only good breeding could produce in a baby) when Lucius stormed into the room.

"Narcissa!" He roared furiously, and even her little Dragon flinched, frightened of his Daddy's voice. Now, that just wouldn't do...

"Yes, Lucius?" She responded in an even tone, though her eyes displayed a cruel warning that made it very clear just why she was sorted into Slytherin, and reminded subtly that Bellatrix Lestrange was her sister and they weren't so very different if she didn't want them to be.

Her husband's anger only faltered for a second at the look, before he put on his best face as a powerful pureblood Malfoy, and she started thinking that it was absolutely absurd for them to be silently having a battle over who was crueler than whom before the argument even started.

"My pocket-watch, what have you done with it?"

She stared coolly back at him, calculating how best to respond. "I gave it to the Dark Lord, just before he went to Godric's Hallow." She revealed, not even wincing at the fury her husband was now displaying.

"You did _what_?" He hissed out, "That was Evan's watch!"

"Honestly, Lucius, with the Malfoy crest on it? I should hardly have been expected to know that." She snapped back, taking a disgruntled Draco into her arms and bouncing him automatically on her knee without even thinking of it. If Narcissa was anything, it was a naturally good mother.

"Maybe if you would spend any of your time _listening _to what I have to say, or _noticing _the things that I cherish, you would have known that the watch was very dear to me!"

"Yes, well, coming from the man who didn't even notice his wife was eight months pregnant, I hardly see your point. You're more torn up about losing the watch than the Dark Lord!" She accused, quickly regaining the upper hand as she always did. Lucius was an easy person to argue with, if you knew him well. Which she did, despite her lack of concern for his material things – specifically, Evan Rosier's watch.

Draco let out an indignant screech, not liking that his parents weren't paying him much attention, and Lucius, bitter man that he was, did not go so far as to further upset his son. The argument was over, and they did not mention it again, but from time to time, Lucius would long for the watch in his hands, missing the peace it used to bring him, when he could imagine that it was whispering sweet nothings into his head.

**XxBxExLxOxVxExDxX**

Contrary to common belief, it was Severus Snape who was the first to arrive at the scene. He had sat there, for precious seconds that felt like hours and days and years, with the corpse of the woman he knew as Lily _Evans _lying breathlessly against his chest. He had cried. He had cried, and deceived by silence, he had thought that no one was there to see him.

But two eyes, small and searching, and just exactly like the ones that were closed and pressed against him – were watching. Harry Potter had a stillness that a babe should not know how to poses. He had stared at the strange man with the greasy black hair, as he cradled his Mummy, and sobbed agonizingly all over her clothes, dampening the shirt that she had picked out just that morning, when she was alive and well.

Harry's Mummy didn't look any different, only still. But he knew that something was very wrong, because he himself had changed. His forehead was bleeding, and there was a pocket-watch, scorched black and bent up beyond repair, that wouldn't leave him alone. Perhaps, to a muggle, it would seem absurd that a baby would be stalked by a pocket-watch, but that was exactly what was happening.

Even as the man who had cried all over Mummy left, and the big man with the big beard came in and stripped him of all his clothes, clumsily changing his diaper, and inspecting his body for anything abnormal, the pocket-watch was there. He could feel it more than see it, now, but he had seen it before. It had fallen to the floor with a thud, after the flash of green light, and something in him had called to it, commanded it, and now it wouldn't leave him alone.

When the big hairy man, who he recalled was a friend of Daddy and Mummy's put him on the flying motorbike, he could feel the pocket-watch. It had found a way into the blankets that he was wrapped up in, and the touch was strange against his skin, like nothing he'd ever felt before. His forehead burned and he cried, hating the sting of the pain, but it faded, and he slept.

He had dreams that night. Dreams that he didn't understand at such a young age, and by the time he was old enough, wouldn't remember.

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**A/N: Okay, I know this chapter seems rather pointless, but it's not. The next one's done, I'll have it up after some reviews come in. (Yes, I'm one of _those _people, lol.) **

**So with that said, PLEASE REVIEW OMG I NEED IT O.O **

**I love you guys for reading! **

**-Beloved**


	3. Strangers

**A/N: As annoyed as I am (that would be horrifically, terribly, monumentally, and disgustingly annoyed) with the fact that the last chapter of this got about a third of the reviews the first one got – I must also acknowledge that the reviews it DID get were rather pleasant, and that people did at least subscribe. I'm still mad at you guys though, if that means anything to you, which I guess it doesn't. Perhaps you don't understand that I really am the overly dramatic type who breaths in reviews like oxygen and exhales fanfiction like carbon dioxide. For those of you who don't understand that metaphor – it means that I'm an ass hole and if you don't make an effort to appreciate my writing, I have thirty or so other incomplete fanfics to spend my time on. Think about that.**

**Now that I'm done ranting, I'll apologize in advance for the general all-over-the-place-ness of this chapter. I wrote it three different ways, five different times (don't ask) and this is the result of me merging what I thought were the most sensible bits of them all, considering the fact that I already have the next three chapters done and this one is getting pretty long in the editing process (which somehow always ends up with me adding more than deleting) **

**Unfortunately I had to cut out that ridiculously hot segment where Vernon Dursley has a wet dream about Sirius Black's irrevocably randy motorbike having wild greasy vehicle-sex with a certain sassy Ford Anglia. **

…**This is why I don't write beginning authors notes. They're long, obnoxious, and nonsensical. **

**Enjoy!**

The first memory that Harry could recall of the Pocket Watch was on his fourth birthday. It was before he had entirely lost favor with his aunt and uncle, back in the days where they still had some hope that perhaps his freak father wouldn't taint his otherwise relatively normal lineage. Although he would never be their _favorite _boy in the house, he hadn't felt so despised back then. Also, as a naturally optimistic child, Harry rarely thought anything of the fact that for some reason his cousin always seemed to have more than he did. His room under the stairs was certainly big enough for his tiny build. After all, he was only just turning four.

Harry had been very excited on this birthday, because his uncle Vernon had said that it was about time he stopped damaging that old crib, so Harry would be getting a bed. A whole bed! Box spring _and _Mattress! Just like Dudley had gotten two years ago. Plus, Dudley was getting presents too, and he wanted a new duvet set with little footballs and baseballs on it, which meant that Harry's new bed would get to have the old duvet with the spaceships and shooting stars. All in all, it was a pretty great day.

Now, Harry was quite sure that before this day he would have been _somewhat _aware of the watch's existence. After all – he couldn't remember a day in his life when he'd questioned the fact that it was always around his neck. He just never noticed it, really. It had a way of not being noticed if it didn't want to be. In fact, there were times when Harry didn't remember having the watch at all. But then, when he noticed it again, it would be as if he'd never forgotten it in the first place.

Harry's fourth birthday wasn't only special because of the watch, though. It was also the first time he did magic. He just didn't know it.

He'd been eating his supper, fresh off of the stove, even though it was much too hot. The second it touched his tongue it burned, but only for that second. Afterwords, he was fine. Harry had assumed that perhaps he'd gotten his tongue numb, but could still taste every bite. In reality, his body had instinctively cast a minor cooling charm over both his tongue and his meal.

He was wiping his hands with his napkin when he heard the watch speak for the first time:

"_Well thank Merlin for that. I'd been worried that you had none of your own in you at all." _It had said, and Harry was rather confused by it, having firstly not known where the voice was coming from, and secondly, not understood what it was that he either did or didn't have in him at all.

"My own what?" He'd asked inquisitively, but aunt Petunia had given him one of those looks that meant he was being freakish like his father, so he shut up, even though the watch responded.

"_Magic, of course. I can feel **His** all over you. That's why I'm here – but I was concerned that maybe you didn't have any. There's only two other half-bloods I've ever stuck around with this long, you know. One of them is the greatest man the world has ever known, and the other is generally unimpressive in almost every way. I obviously can't have been expected to know which you're leaning more towards." _

Harry was determined to chew through the mystery voice's rambling, and he did rather well with it (if he did say so himself)

After they ate, it was time for Dudley to be bathed and tucked in and read his bedtime story upstairs. Harry went through his usual routine of struggling with the broken shower in their basement that seemed to always operate on only hot or only cold. Then, he tucked himself into his brand new bed, beneath his brand new duvet, and grinned. Today was just wonderful!

"Are you still there?" He asked tentatively, wondering if that voice from earlier had hung about.

"_I've been here for nearly three years, you oblivious child. It is impossible for either of us to detach from the other without doing it together, so where could I possibly have gone?"_

Harry shrugged, and tried to think about this voice. He could hear it in his head, and clearly he was the only one who could. Perhaps he was like that lady who aunt Petunia had been talking about. The one who was so unfortunate because she had skitzovania or whatever it's called. He bit his lip, trying to remember. There were few things that Harry liked more than learning new words, but that one was the kind of word that was simply too big for him to recall.

"Earlier," He began, deciding that if he had skitzobalium he might as well enjoy it, "You said something about magic. What were you talking about?"

"_Well, I'd been worried that you were a squib, like that batty old hag they send us to when they travel." _

"Mrs. Figg is not a squib!" Harry defended, "She's a _lady._"

The voice snorted in his head. Harry decided that no matter what a squib was, the way the voice said it, it was clearly a Very Bad Thing – so he just _knew _that sweet old Mrs. Figg couldn't possibly be one. He decided that perhaps this voice wasn't a very nice person, so he wouldn't hold any more conversation with it. This decision did not at all stop the voice from talking his ear off, now that it knew Harry could hear it. Even if Harry _wanted _to respond, though – it never said anything that made any sense.

"_Couldn't you find a copy of _The Daily Prophet _or something, Kid? I'm sick of being an outcast." _

"_I swear, the lengths these people go through to make up for a simple _Incendio_... they're really quite idiotic, aren't they?" _

"_That uncle of yours is awful, isn't he? I've barely met any muggles in person, but I understand now where the Dark Lord is coming from with his ideals. They're even worse than worthless – they're cruel _and_inferior. What a waste of skin and blood." _

The voice talked about this "Dark Lord" fellow, quite a bit, actually. Clearly, though – it wasn't enough for Harry to recognize said evil mastermind when first acquainted with him, which was much earlier in life than most people thought. In fact, Harry's first contact with Voldemort after the Godric's Hallow incident was far, _far _before he'd encountered a fallen unicorn in the Forbidden Forest.

"Fix it, boy!" Vernon had shouted, in one of his more intolerable moods. Harry's eyes were filled with tears already, but he knew that things would only get worse if he let them fall. He was a big boy – the voice had told him so – and he mustn't let the muggles discourage him, even if he was a filthy half-blood... okay, so perhaps the voice didn't make sense most of the time, but he was a big boy and that's what mattered. He would not let them see him cry.

"I... I c-can't, uncle Vernon... It won't-"

"Petunia!" Vernon roared, "Come get rid of this birds nest!"

And she had.

Exactly twenty minutes later, Harry had been shoved into his cupboard, crying so hard he choked, frantically trying to shield his forehead as cold air brushed against the scar that was for some reason extremely sensitive at the moment. He hated it when people saw that scar. Hated. Hated. _Hated _it. It was supposed to be _hidden, _it was supposed to be... to be unseen... to be- **Protected. **A part of him supplied. He agreed with that part of himself, though the thought was slightly foreign in his head. The scar burned furiously, and Harry collapsed onto his bed, not able to imagine that there had ever been a moment in his life when he was happy.

His nails scratched desperately at the scar, and he pulled at his hair, wishing, hoping, _yearning _for it to grow.

**That's not good enough. **

No, it wasn't. Yearning for something wouldn't make it happen. Hoping for something was foolish. Wishing for something was futile.

**If you want it – demand that it be so. **

Yes, that's what a person had to do. Demand things. Harry was certainly a lot smarter than normal today, it seemed. Or at least his conscience was, he supposed. He pulled at his hair again, and with a voice that was not his own; with a power that was not his own; with an _urgency _that was not his own – he bellowed out one single command.

"_**Grow!" **_

And so it did.

**-Time Leap- **

The first time it happened, it woke Lucius from his sleep. He disapperated on the spot, transfiguring his pajamas into billowing black robes, and the sleeping cap he wore into a white Death Eater mask. Needless to say, he was quite surprised when his location was simply a small muggle neighborhood. Number four Privet drive, to be exact. He couldn't get inside though. Any attempt he made to be near the house was blocked by something he could not explain, and his arm was burning horribly because of it.

His Lord had called him. He'd _felt _it. He'd never forget what it felt like. Even seven years after Voldemort's disappearance, Lucius remained loyal. It was a poorly kept secret to some, but it was a fact to most. When he felt the call, he didn't hesitate to answer it... but why would his master be calling him to this silly little house? And what sort of test was it that he couldn't get _in_?

Figuring it as some sort of fluke, Lucius went back home, ignoring the horrid sensation of the mark melting his skin. He'd heard from less favored Death Eaters before that it did that if you got the call but didn't appear before the Dark Lord. Lucius had never had an occasion to test if it was true or not until now, but he certainly didn't like it.

He put a burning salve on it, and sighed happily when it relieved the pain... only to make it ten times worse ten seconds later. His Malfoy pride was completely and honestly the only thing stopping him from crying like a little bitch at the feeling. He looked down and could see that the snake on the mark was actually _eating _his flesh. (And looking rather pleased with itself, unless he was imagining the gleam in it's two-dimensional eyes)

Automatically, he apparated again, feeling the pull of his master's will increasing and unable to do anything else. This time, instead of ending up in the queer little muggle community, he was in his own library, directly in front of a bookshelf that he used for his more … disreputable … books. Out of pure instinct, he reached out, grabbing a book at random and pressing it to his forearm. The snake stilled, and he stared at the book in wonder, opening it to see what made it so special, only to find that all of the pages were blank.

With a deep breath of resignation, Lucius put Tom Riddle's diary back in it's proper place, and went to bed.

It took nearly three months for the damn mark to heal. Exactly Voldemort's idea of fair. Even if you _did _manage to stop the immediate onslaught, nothing could reverse the damage already done except time, and a lot of wizarding vitamins. Actual potions and any other sort of healing magic only worsened the process.

Just as the first call finished healing, it happened again, and again, and again, so that a year after the first time, Lucius was so used to it that he slept beside Tom Riddle's diary, and kept it on his person when he was awake. He had gotten quite familiar with the front of Number Four Privet Drive, and through quite a bit of research he discovered that the thing disallowing him entry was a blood-ward. Two, actually. Meaning that there were two people in that home with blood relation to a third person whom he apparently had intention to harm – which was an odd thought, considering the fact that he had no idea who lived there.

Clearly, it was a wizarding home, though, if it had magical wards. This heavily contradicted with the muggle car parked out front, and the mailbox, and glow of light too harsh to have been caused by candles or charms. Perhaps Mudbloods? Did those pathetic whelps live in threes for their own protection these days?

He did not know, only that he had to apparate to the little house before the diary would do him any aide. Clearly, the call itself came from the house – but the diary was a worthy substitute of some sort. He had written to the diary about it, once, but the diary's reply was the same thing that it always was:

_'I was not given to you in order to help you sort out your pathetic life, Lucius.' _

He knew that, of course. The diary was among several other things of the Dark Lord's that had come into Lucius and Narcissa's possession during the war. They had been so honored. He and Narcissa, the Dark Lord's diary, and several copies of dark arts tomes, none of which they'd bothered to look at – both being more the power hungry type than the academic-sponge sort – it had been just before Evan's death, and Evan had laughed at the gift, saying that it was fitting for the books and the diary to be together. Lucius supposed it was because they were all things that the Dark Lord would have used while still at school.

He didn't realize until several years after the end of this story that if he had in fact _read _those books, he would have known that the diary was a Horcrux, and known how to revive his lord using it. But – as was already mentioned – he did not read them.

He did, however, spend a great deal of time perusing _Magikal Marcs_, by Isadora Byron, even as shameful as it was to be reading the work of a half-blood, simply because he had no choice. The Dark Mark was clearly acting faulty, and he wanted to get to the bottom of it.

The book had a lot of information on marks that could be considered dark, and was infamous for having an entire chapter of excerpts from Salazar Slytherin's diary. These little clips, however, were impossible to understand, since they were actually just very detailed animated drawings of snakes, that would hiss at you, as if they were reading aloud. This phenomena was very frustrating for Lucius, because it confirmed two things undoubtedly – firstly, the information he needed was definitely in this book. Secondly, his likeliness of ever being able to read any part of the book that would be of any assistance of him was minimal, if existent.

He was, in fact, in the process of reading this book when the Mark summoned him again, and he did all that he could do – he apparated, not even bothering to transfigure anything this time. He showed up exactly as he was, in a set of moderately casual black robes, that were still several hundred galleons _less _casual than everyone else's.

For the first time in a year, however, the Mark did not summon him directly to the muggle home. Well, it did – he could see the Muggle home just a house away. But he was being summoned to a different house, one which clearly had no blood-wards or other means of protection. He knocked politely, and an _Imperio_ influenced Squib answered the door. For a moment, Lucius wondered why it was that the Imperious curse was undetectable to both muggles and wizards, but so horrifically noticed in squibs. Realizing that he didn't actually care as much as he thought he did when the thought originated, he chose instead to stop his mind from wandering, and observe the situation at hand.

Raising a perfectly manicured platinum blond eyebrow, he took in the sight of her. She was a strange looking thing, plump around the middle with thin arms and hair that was wrapped tight in big, plastic cylinders. It must be some sort of muggle fashion that she'd forced herself to conform to. Before he could think too hard on it, though – he was being hugged tightly around his middle by a small boy, who looked a year or two younger than his son, judging by his height and underfed physique. Draco was thin, but this child seemed to be entirely made of bone.

"You came!" The boy exclaimed excitedly, beaming up at him with eyes that were a disturbingly familiar shade of green. His first thought was that someone had captured the exact color of a killing curse and implanted it directly into the child's irises, then he was reminded of a girl from his school days. A year behind him, in Gryffindor, but with a taste for sitting with the Slytherins in the great hall, where she would whisper excitedly with Severus Snape.

And then he saw the scar. His reaction was pure reflex.

"_Avada Ke_-"

"Evan said you might try that,"

The curse died on his lips, a feint mockery of that boy's green eyes dancing on the tip of his wand as it fiddled out of his mind. It wasn't that he didn't know there were a great many people in England by the name of Evan who weren't his dead best friend. There were _plenty _Evan's who weren't deceased Death Eaters. Lots and lots of babies who had been called Evan who were not _his _Evan.

But just as surely as he knew that – he knew that when Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, said the name "Evan" he was talking about Evan Rosier.

So Lucius paused, and considered the facts. Something in this child clearly had held on to some sort of connection to The Dark Lord, because surely little Harry Potter was the only one in this daft neighborhood capable of calling him here. The boy was positively _tingling _with magic. So, Potter had control over the Dark Mark, and was somehow acquainted with the quite-entirely-dead Evan Rosier. This, however, was not one hundred percent impossible. If Lucius was to be honest, he'd had several conversations with Evan after the man's death. But that was different. That was through a worthless pocket-watch that had been destroyed right along with the Dark Lord on the night that Lucius' world had, once again, collapsed.

"I think we need to have a bit of a conversation, Potter, don't you?"

An enormous grin spread across the boy's kind face. "Of course! Evan said you'd say that, too! That's why he had to possess me just a little, cus Evan says that my Imperio is pig-shit."

It sounded like something Evan would say, but not something that any child Harry's age ought to say. Although, calculating the demise of the Dark Lord, Harry was older than he looked. Nine, if Lucius' math was correct. Which it was, of course. In fact-

"Did you know that today is my birthday? The Dursleys took Dudley out for the weekend instead, because he deserves two birthdays more than I deserve one, but last night at midnight Evan taught me a new curse! Evan's always sweet on my birthdays, around my birthday last year, he taught me how to use The Dark Lord's magic, and the year before that he got me a wand! He says it can be my spare after I get a real one for school."

It seemed that at least for now, Potter's rambling was over, so Lucius decided it an appropriate time to speak. "Who, exactly, is this Evan that you speak of?"

"Oh c'mon, Luc, don't be like that."

And for a moment, though just a moment, the boy's eyes had dulled to a deathly charcoal, and the voice that had come from his throat hadn't been his at all.

Lucius closed his eyes, then opened them again, and he was staring back at that Avada Kedavra green.

"Sorry, Evan does that sometimes, but it doesn't hurt or anything. I thought it would, when he first asked to do it, but Evan says not to worry – if he had to do something that would hurt somebody, he wouldn't ask first."

Lusiuc refused to snort, although that did – again – sound exactly like something that Evan would say.

"How do you and Evan know each other? And how did he get you a wand?"

"Oh, well, Evan followed me home like a little lost puppy after The Dark Lord tried to kill me or at least, that's what _I _say. Evan swears that I somehow wandlessly summoned him to me because we're both dark artifacts of people who knew each other in their past life, but that's super complicated, so I stick with the puppy theory..."

"And the _wand, _Potter?"

"Oh right! Getting a wand was tricky. I had to put him on Aunt Petunia before she woke up in the morning, and he made her go to get it while I was in school that day."

Lucius frowned, slightly, "What do you mean you _put him _on your aunt?"

The boy's response to this was rather peculiar: He began to disrobe.

He took off his jumper, first – about three sizes too small for him. Then his shirt, which was several sizes too big. And there, pressed against his small chest, was a small watch, that Lucius would have recognized anywhere.

And suddenly, he was forced to realize two things at once. Firstly – he hated the Boy-Who-Lived on a general principle, for owning something that was rightfully his in more ways than that foolish child could possibly imagine. And secondly … that as long as Harry was able to communicate so much more fluently with Evan than he could, there was no possible way he could let any harm come to him.

Now that he thought of it. Perhaps there was some truth in Narcissa's assessment that he was more upset at losing the watch than the Dark Lord.

"You're thinking too hard, Luc," A familiar voice said, and his head snapped up again to get a second look at the Evan-Eyed-Harry that really was just too disturbing to gaze at for too long. It didn't seem to last for too long either, because as his stare continued, he realized that Avada-Kedavra-Eyed-Harry was looking back at him rather uncomfortably. The boy was pouting, and Lucius was overwhelmed with the inexplicable want to ask him what was wrong; but he was informed without having to humiliate himself in such a way.

"Evan likes you better than me," Potter whined; giving Lucius the oddly distinct impression that the child had just been declared second-favorite by his only friend.

"I've known him longer,"

Oh, nice. Now he was being petty to a kid. Younger than his son. On his birthday. If Lucius hadn't already been so certain of his seat next to the devil, he would have known in that moment that he was going to hell.

"You're not going to cry, are you?"

Harry shrugged. "I suppose I could. It would be appropriate." He was looking down, and Lucius noticed for the first time that he was wearing only a sock on one foot and only a shoe on the other.

"Appropriate... how?" The Malfoy inquired, though he could already feel the answer, pulsing unpleasantly through his veins like being plunged into a pensieve whilst forced to remain totally still.

"Tears are for strangers," Harry responded seamlessly; and Lucius winced, though he could have sworn he heard Evan's Pocket Watch purring delightedly.

The boy continued.

"Tears are for strangers, because your enemies-"

"Will use them to weaken your mind," Lucius interrupted, "And your friends will use them to weaken your heart."

Harry smiled, over his bitterness for the time being, it seemed. "You've heard that said before?"

"Countless times." Lucius felt his memory being dragged through visions, as if in the space of one single second, he re-lived every single Death Eater initiation he'd been present for, and every single time the Dark Lord had given the exact same speech to his new recruit, always varying in parts, but always the same in others. Deaths are for enemies. Lives are for the worthy. Regrets are for the damned. Friends are for the weak. _Tears are for strangers._

"Who said it to you before me, then? Evan, maybe?"

"No." he replied, softly, as the boy looked up, his eyes as red as fresh blood.

Lucius wondered just how many homicidal men that he used to know were living on through the clearly corruptible mind and soul of Harry James Potter.

**A/N: I hope you guys start getting a little more REVIEW happy. Or else I'll have to pretend to threaten to take one of my other Harry Potter fics out of hiatus and work on that one instead. Which would be painfully ironic, due to the fact that the whole reason they're _on _hiatus is related to a rather harsh argument that I had with a rather harsh critic after a rather harsh review. **

**Flame me if you must. **

**Just don't be a dick. **

**I really shouldn't explain that, but what I mean is that if you're gonna flame me, flame me about something that I did wrong, not just because you have general distaste for me as a person, although you apparently love my writing style and plot. **

**-ahem- **

**Not even gonna go there. **

… **This is getting really awkward. How about I start putting up the authors notes directly after I write the chapter so that they're more relevant? **

**Or maybe I shouldn't write them at all. I'm really sorry if you're still reading this. **

**Anyway... I love you guys for sticking by me and reading my insanity, whether that be my actual work or the two insanely horrific authors notes above and below it! **

**-Beloved**


	4. The Human Mind

**A/N: Hi there, guys. I know that there's no good reason for this to have taken nearly three months for me to update, but I have one that's at least almost-good-ish, even though it's not really "acceptable" or anything. **

**My computer deleted this chapter. Ugh. I don't know how many of you guys are writers as well as readers, and how many of you guys who _are _writers have had something deleted after you had already finished it – but those of you who have been in my situation will understand that it is even harder to _re-_write something than it is to write it in the first place. I don't comprehend the exact reason why that is; because you'd think that it'd be easier, but it's not. It's emotionally draining because the whole way your brain is telling you that you didn't have things worded that way before, that it was better before, that you're an idiot for not having it saved onto a flash-drive as well as your hard-drive. Etc. Etc. **

**Anyways, it's done now! The next chapters are also lost, but I'll get to work on them as soon as I go try to satisfy the readers of my other fandoms who have (believe it or not) been waiting even longer than you Harry Potter folk have. And I don't even have a REASON to give them, cus their updates have been delayed due to pure laziness on my part... **

**Enjoy!**

He was to return the watch to the boy in two days time, but hopefully two days would be enough. Harry seemed to be under the impression that there was no trick to talking to Evan through the watch, and all you had to do in order to hear him was to have acceptance of the fact that you _could. _It certainly explained why the watch would be heard by the boy. Apparently it was completely invisible and mute to anyone who did not already know that it was there and it could speak. Harry claimed that although the first time he'd heard it he didn't know what it was, he had never doubted in his life that maybe voices could speak to you without you knowing why. It was rather innocent, actually. And innocence was not something that Lucius was familiar with.

"Evan?" He asked tentatively, looking down at the watch in his hand. It trembled slightly, but made no sound. Clearly, Lucius did not believe the watch could speak. He tried to clear his mind, as if preparing for Occlumency, and did everything in his power to accept the fact that the watch was Evan Rosier, and Evan Rosier was alive.

And then he felt it. Snaking through his veins like bitter poison.

_Hope. _

It was filling him up, taking him over, and he let himself fall into it. That must have been the _real _trick behind it all. Harry's hope that someday he would have a friend. Lucius' hope that his one true friend wasn't gone.

"Evan," he sighed out, and it wasn't a question this time – because he _knew _he'd get an answer. The things the child had said were too sophisticated to have come from nowhere.

"_Luc," _The watch whispered back, only it seemed to come from just beside both of his ears. It was an odd sound, a whisper on the wind, but it was all that he had, and he clung to it. _"How have you been, my old friend?_"

Lucius smiled, something that he rarely did. It was absurd, of course – the grin on his face. Just as it was absurd that a dead man had put it there. Nothing, however, was quite as absurd as the idea that he and Evan were merely _old friends. _But pureblood mannerisms and thought systems clouded their words. They would never speak any of it aloud. He would never hear Evan say "I love you" nor would he ever utter those words to another man himself. Even in privacy, they wouldn't dare speak to each other in any romantic way. But they didn't have to. It wasn't _words _that had made them realize their feelings for each other; and it would never be _words _that kept those feelings alive. It was much stronger than that.

"I have been quite well," Lucius answered, "I have a son,"

"_A son?" _Evan sounded interested, _"He would have been born before I figured out how to communicate this way, I expect." _

Lucius nodded, knowing that the watch had already been in the same room as Draco before.

"I was hoping for him to have your eyes," The blond confessed, laughing softly at his own stupidity.

"_That's a foolish thing to hope for, Lucius. My eyes used to frighten the other children, don't you remember?" _

"They never frightened me." He whispered, knowing that the signature Rosier eyes _were _a horrific sight to behold. Evan's grandfather had the haunting eyes, a deep terrible color, too sharp to be charcoal, too bright to be gray, and too cruel to be silver. Neither his daughter nor his son had inherited those dreadful eyes, but they'd both passed the gene to their children. Bellatrix and Evan both had them – and it was rumored that the insanity began there. Personally, Lucius didn't think that it was likely for insanity to be transferred on an ocular gene, but there was no denying that Bellatrix, Evan, and their grandfather were all … a little imbalanced.

"_No, I suppose they didn't," _Evan mused, _"But we can't have your son relying on the friendship of a cool, confident Malfoy, now can we? Better we leave the little prats to the Malfoys and the little murderers to the Rosier's. Don't you think? After all – The Blacks have gone soft on us. Three blood-traitors in one generation. Their grandparents are turning in their graves." _

Lucius actually took a moment to consider that. _Three _blood-traitors. Sirius Black and Andromeda Black were clear candidates for the first two. But Regulus Black hadn't been discovered betraying the dark until nearly two years after Evan was dead.

"You knew of Regulus' betrayal, then?"

"_Lucius, it's not-" _

"You _died _for him!" Lucius hissed out, angrily gripping the watch tighter in his hand. "You died for him knowing that he betrayed us! How do you know he didn't betray _you_? It seems rather odd, doesn't it? Aurors at Ollivanders the day _he _has a malfunctioning wand, and insists that _you _buy him a new one."

"_I'm the one who broke his wand. It's only natural that I be the one to purchase another for him. He was betraying us that day, yes. He saw his broken wand as an opportunity to meet up with Aurors and fake his own capture. He did not insist that I do anything; in fact, he was rather upset the entire time that I forced myself to tag along on that little venture. He was setting _himself_ up, not me. I couldn't take a hint and get lost, so instead I got killed for being exactly who I am. Don't blame Regulus for my death, Lucius. I died because I was devoted to the Dark Lord and would not pretend to be anything but that. I had to choose between a life in Azkaban in exchange for surrendering to lesser beings than myself, or dying for a cause that I believed in."_

"The Dark Lord could have broken you out of Azkaban,"

"_The Dark Lord would have been proud of me that day. I took out every single mudblood on that Auror squad." _

"So? The Dark Lord is _dead_, Evan."

"_The Dark Lord will return. As will I." _

Lucius had no response to that. If he disagreed, it would make him a lunatic for even having this conversation in the first place. "What does Harry Potter have to do with all this?"

"_Ah, yes. He's got everything to do with this, actually. Though, it would be better if he did not know that, or at least did not have any memory of it – until the very end." _

"Should I Obliviate him?"

"_That will erase his memory." _

"Yes, Rosier, I'm aware of what that spell is used for." Lucius spat out in aggravation.

"_Well if you're going to be like _that, _Mr. _Malfoy, _then feel free to give me back to the Potter boy at your earliest convenience. I will keep my plans to myself." _

Lucius sighed, and took a deep inhale. For two men that claimed to be nothing more than friends, this was sounding more and more like a lovers spat by the minute. Lucius did not _have _lovers spats. Not even with his wife.

"Listen, Evan. If you're in need of my assistance, then tell me what to do plainly. I don't have any time to be working through that jigsaw-puzzle mind of yours, especially because I can't read it in the first place."

"_Oh, you're no fun, Lucius. I was only teasing you," _Evan jested, sounding very much as if there would be a smirk decorating his lips if he still had a body, _"It is imperative that in the upcoming war, Harry Potter is on our side, not Dumbledore's. It is equally imperative that until The Dark Lord is completely and entirely returned to his former power, everyone remain ignorant of Harry's defection, including the boy himself." _

Lucius frowned. "How is he going to be on our side the entire time and not know it?"

"_It was once whispered in certain circles that Abraxas Malfoy was the best legilimense in the world, and Severus Snape the best occlumense." _

Intrigued, Lucius nodded. "Go on,"

"_Of course, there are those of us who know that there was one even greater than your father at raping the mind." _

Lucius chuckled at the crude yet accurate description of legilimency. "The Dark Lord, of course. He surpassed us all _in _all. He was the greatest wizard of his time and ours."

Evan agreed, the watch buzzing merrily in a way that somehow suggested sadistic frenzy more than happiness.

"_However – there are only three people who know that you: Lucius Malfoy, can shield your mind better than Severus Snape would every dream of. Those three people being those of us in this room, and I hardly count, since I'm technically not here, and Harry Potter." _

Lucius smiled fondly. It's true – he didn't let anyone know how many of his memories and thoughts were kept on mental lock-down at all time. In his opinion, Snape's biggest flaw was that he kept walls around his entire mind and let no one in, rather than doing what Lucius did. He let _everyone _in, and allowed their freedom within his thoughts to distract them from the fact that he had a very small portion sectioned off and well protected. A portion that contained very complex but secret things – like the fact that he'd been in love with Evan Rosier since he was fourteen years old, which his father would have been very much unhappy to learn of during one of his 'mind-rape' sessions, as Evan had dubbed them.

"You want me to put a barrier in Potter's mind."

"_Yes,"_ Evan agreed. _"A very strong one. Strong enough that even he can't tell it's there." _

Lucius frowned. "That's impossible, both sides of his mind would have to grow and record memories as the same person, or else he'd develop a split personality and go insane when he discovered the barrier – you know that already, Evan. It's what killed my mother."

"_Your mother went insane because_ both_ sides of her mind didn't realize about each other. What I'm suggesting is more like … tinted windows on a muggle car. They can see out of them, but no one can see in." _

Lucius' eyes widened when he realized exactly what Evan was suggesting with all of this. "So – basically – what you're saying is that you mean to store all of his memories of the wizarding world so far, including you and I, into one side of his mind, and allow that part of him to see but not affect the other half of himself. You're going to let him live his whole life as the Light Side's hero, forced to watch that Old Coot Albus Dumbledore take over his future, while all he can do is observe! It will be miserable for him, Evan. His true self will be trapped inside of his head forever. A barrier strong enough to keep his light side from discovering it would be too strong for his dark side to break!"

The watch seemed somehow warmly amused, as if Evan had expected this exact reaction. _"Harry understands this, and is unafraid. Do not worry, Lucius. Firstly, I will remain with him, though only his 'dark side' – as you put it – will be able to communicate with me. Also, please believe me when I say: there are much darker things inside of this child than his own mind. When that barrier needs to be broken, it will fall with little effort." _

"Evan, a wall that strong? Especially if it _is _willful on his part? There's only one man I can think of who could possibly break it, and he's been gone for quite some time."

"_It will not need breaking until his return either way, Lucius. The Dark Lord will be the one to release Harry Potter to the world for who he truly is. Their fates are intertwined, my dear friend. It's the only way." _

It was a rather brilliant plan, Lucius thought. Then again, Evan had always been brilliant. Insane, psychopathic, and self-righteous – but brilliant.

"But what about _you, _Evan? You are, doubtlessly, one of the most devoted followers our Lord has, but with you putting all of your energy towards getting him back, when do you focus on finding a body for _yourself_?"

"_Don't be silly, Lucius. The amount of preservation charms on my body is remarkable, I can be taken to it and put back whenever I want. Unlike The Dark Lord – I was not obliterated, I was merely killed. But when I first got used to only living through this watch, I didn't know how to communicate properly, and then after that I realized that I'm actually more useful to the cause as a watch than a person anyway."_

Perhaps the word "dumbstruck" ought to be added to Lucius' list of personal use adjectives after all. All of this time, Evan could have marched the Potter boy over to his grave, dug up his body, and gone right back to being alive. It had been _years. _Lucius had mourned him for over a _decade. _Furiously and without sound-mind, Lucius threw the watch across the room, not allowing himself to wince when it collided with the hard marble bust of his thrice-great grandfather, and dropped to the floor.

As fate would have it, Draco chose that moment to step into the room. He noticed the watch immediately, something that was not so difficult to do, considering the house elves kept everything in perfect order, so seeing anything on the floor at Malfoy Manor was a rarity indeed.

It happened very quickly, and Lucius saw it very slowly. Draco bending over, picking up the watch, and freezing.

"Draco?" Lucius asked, knowing damn well that if he got an answer it wouldn't be from his son.

"Do _not... _Throw this watch around." Evan's voice hissed. Draco's body stood up again, clutching the watch firmly, but not facing Lucius. "If you are unable to have civilized conversation, then say so, and bring me back to the boy – but this watch mattered more to me in my life than it did to you after my death and I refuse to let you mistreat it."

And then he turned, and Lucius had known already what he would see, but it still took his breath away. His son's face was a mask of fury and disgust, a look that didn't suit his delicate features at all. But his eyes were Evan's eyes, and in that moment Draco looked exactly how Lucius had always wanted him to. All Malfoy with a touch of Rosier. Without Narcissa's eyes, one could even imagine that the boy wasn't hers at all. And with Evan's eyes, one might even imagine-

"Stop it, Lucius." Evan said softly, "You chose her, and it was the right choice. It's too late to regret that now."

"You think I've never regretted it before now?"

"I think that looking at your child and wanting him to be someone he's not would make you no different from your own father."

Lucius' nostrils flared and he stood up, looking darkly down at the figure that he had to remind himself was _not _his son. "I am _nothing _like my father, and you know it."

"Well, that's certainly good, because if Draco followed in your footsteps and committed patricide in order to gain his father's estates, then I must admit – I'd be quite upset." Evan remarked, eying Lucius meaningfully.

And Lucius smiled back at him – because between them, Evan's open admission to sadness at the idea of Lucius' death was as close to an 'I love you' as they'd ever get.

**XxBxExLxOxVxExDxX**

"Will it be today, then?" Harry asked meekly, his green eyes darting anxiously up at Lucius and his small pale hand gripping tightly to the pocket watch, the way a child might hug at a parent's leg around strangers.

At this point, Lucius Malfoy was far from a stranger, but he looked rather tall and imposing, standing there with his best cloak on. It was the day before his son's birthday, and they were having a dinner tonight, then taking Draco to France for the rest of the summer. Evan had insisted that it was imperative for the mind barrier to go up before Harry received his Hogwarts letter, so here they were – in a muggle primary school classroom; that had been abandoned until the new school term.

Lucius looked down at the ten year old and nodded, taking out his wand. They walked out to the playground attached to the school, and looked around to see if anyone was watching.

"Put the watch around your neck Harry,"

The child obediently did as he was told, sighing contentedly as he felt the watch warm against his chest. He knew that soon he would forget about the watch, and that it would turn invisible, unable to be seen by anyone, including Harry himself – or at least the Harry that he was about to become, if that made any sense.

"Now face away from me, this will be useless if you see me doing it."

Harry nodded, and closed his eyes, and turned his back to Lucius, tensing slightly with nervousness when he felt a wand pressing at the back of his head. It seemed like Lucius was behind him muttering Latin nonsense for hours. But slowly, he felt different. Faded, almost – like a shadow of a thought, in someone else's head. Panicking, he reached a hand back, desperate to feel that Lucius was still behind him.

He felt nothing.

He opened his eyes, desperate to see something, anything, even if it wasn't the black pavement that should have been under his feet or the swing-set that he knew he was standing right beside.

He saw nothing.

Lucius' Latin murmurs were over now, and he strained his ears to hear if the man was still behind him or not. To hear the chirping of a bird, or the whistle of the wind against his ears.

He heard nothing.

And so, trapped in the endless blackness of his own foreign mind – Harry Potter screamed.

**A/N: Okay, so yes – I did leave it in a bit of a cliffhanger. Sorry. And yes, it's extra douchey to have one, because I don't update this fic often. Sorry-er? **

**And yet clearly not sorry enough to _not_ end it in a cliffhanger... xD **

**Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Hope you REVIEW it. Hope you go back and review any before it that you haven't. Hope you know that without reviews I doubt I'll manage to even START much less POST the next chapter. **

**So seriously. Review. **

**I love each and every one of my readers! **

**-Beloved**

**P.S. Sorry for any mistakes. I don't have a beta. If you're up for making it your own personal priority to correct my mistakes before I post the fic in the first place, send me a PM, and I will gladly let you do so. If you're not really all that committed to helping me out, then don't correct my mistakes in your review. Thanks :D **


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